


forget the violence, forget the world

by nightcalling



Series: 'til death do us part [1]
Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22914301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightcalling/pseuds/nightcalling
Summary: “When this bloody war’s over,” Blake said, completely unprompted, in the middle of the light drizzling rain, “I’m going to ask you to marry me.”Schofield nearly dropped his shovel and lost it to the soggy earth below. He glanced around nervously before whispering back, “That’s not funny.”
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Series: 'til death do us part [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657213
Comments: 30
Kudos: 326





	forget the violence, forget the world

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Kodaline’s “Wherever You Are.”

As he watches Blake lying on the cot, his breathing as faint as a newborn’s heartbeat, Schofield can’t help but twist his fingers into Blake’s hand even tighter. It’s somehow an even more difficult sight to bear than watching Blake bleed out in that abandoned farmhouse, red spilling out beyond days, enough to taint the ground below. Enough to taint the rings on Blake’s fingers.

The rings. One of which Blake had promised to him long before they’d been sent on their suicide mission.

_“When this bloody war’s over,” Blake said, completely unprompted, in the middle of the light drizzling rain, “I’m going to ask you to marry me.”_

_Schofield nearly dropped his shovel and lost it to the soggy earth below. He glanced around nervously before whispering back, “That’s not funny.” What the hell was Blake thinking?_

_“I’m not tryin’ to be.” Blake jumped down into the shallow trench, kicking mud up onto Schofield’s boots. “I’m perfectly serious.”_

_“You’re never serious.”_

_Blake smiled gently, as if he was consoling an insolent child. “That the best you’ve got? You’ve gone soft.”_

_Before Schofield could string together a cohesive thought, Blake continued, “I’m telling you. We’re going to make it out. We’re going to make it out alive, we’ll find the first road that takes us far away from here, and that’s when I’m going to ask you. I’ll take off this ring”—he raises his hand, turning his palm to emphasize his pinky finger—“and ask you, just like that. Even get on one knee if you’re into that.”_

_There were so many things wrong with what Blake just said._

_“If,” was all Schofield managed to get out. “If we make it out alive.”_

_“No,” Blake disagreed, taking the shovel out of Schofield’s hand. “When.”_

_Schofield couldn’t find it in himself to look Blake in the eye. “What you’re saying is impossible.” Was he talking about the end of the war or the beginning of a new life with Blake? Doesn’t matter; neither will ever come to pass._

_“Hey, Sco.” Blake hooked his fingers gently under Schofield’s jaw and turned his head. “Listen to me. Anything is possible as long as you’re with me.”_

_There was something about Blake’s ability to conjure up the most improbable of scenarios and make them sound like the inevitable on his tongue. It was as if Blake could dictate what would come to pass and become history, and what would remain a dream that gave men something to live for in this godforsaken land._

_The cold sunlight reflected off of Blake’s rings and onto Blake’s face. Schofield stared and stared and stared, and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to believe in Blake’s words, no matter how high the odds were against them._

Of course, he should’ve known it was naïve to believe. After the countless sunrises that bled into sunsets and eventually into the deep, night sky that transformed back into dawn, he should’ve learned. He should’ve known better than to think they stood a chance against God.

Then again, they were both still here, Blake alive, and himself, just barely. He carried one of Blake’s rings with him into Ecoust, into the river, into the trench and out into No Man’s Land, running and running and running all because one life depended on it.

Not the sixteen hundred men’s, not Lieutenant Blake’s, not even his own, but Blake’s. Tom Blake’s.

There was talk of a medal, but he simply didn’t care. All he wanted was for Blake to wake up and speak the impossible into existence again.

He puts one hand over his heart, where the ring lies buried against his chest in his pocket, and tightens his other hand over Blake’s once more, convincing himself that the pulse he feels is not his own.

~

Schofield stirs awake to movement, but where it’s coming from, he doesn’t quite know—behind him? Outside the tent? Beyond that on a separate battlefield? Then, he feels a tug beneath his fingers and understands. He looks at Blake’s face, and finds Blake staring back at him with round, tired eyes.

“Sco?” Blake’s voice is a ghost under the moonlight shining in. They never managed to patch the hole in the roof of the tent.

“I’m here,” Schofield promises. He wants to promise Blake everything. “I’m here.”

Blake grins wearily, a shade of the bright, confident smile he gave Schofield that day digging the trenches. Schofield’s heart would be breaking if it weren’t for the fact that he’s too incredibly overwhelmed by relief.

“Where are we?” Blake asks hoarsely.

Schofield hands Blake a cup of water, letting him drink it all down— _slowly_ , he tells Blake, _slowly_ —before answering. “Back at the Eighth.”

Blake raises his eyebrows, or however much he can muster with the strength he has. “Not the Second?”

Schofield nods. “A unit came by while you were passed out. One of the officers, Captain Smith, he left with you and some of his troops and promised to take you back. But…”

“But you didn’t know if I would make it,” Blake says softly.

Schofield nods again, remaining silent. He will never forget all the blood, all the red. He’s survived the Somme and seen countless soldiers die, but—never that much blood, never that much life, pouring out of one body. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to fully wash out the stains on his skin.

“Joe,” Blake whispers, stirring Schofield out of his thoughts.

“I found him. He’s alright,” Schofield reassures. “Colonel MacKenzie called off the attack.”

Blake grins again, this time with more mirth. “Good riddance.”

Schofield breathes out a laugh. “He’s such an arsehole.”

“Not as much as I am for making you worry.”

That is true, but he wouldn’t ever tell Blake that.

“Never,” Schofield says instead, covering Blake’s fingers with both hands. “You’re here. That’s all that matters.” He meant to cheer Blake up, but Blake merely looks resigned.

“Guess I was wrong, as usual.”

“What do you mean?”

“This war’s never going to end. We’re not going to make it out alive. We’re not going to—” Blake’s voice rises and rises until he suddenly cuts himself off with a choke. Schofield watches helplessly as tears stream down Blake’s face, nearly invisible if it weren’t for the moon.

“Don’t say that.” He allows himself to wipe Blake’s tears away with his thumbs, then places his palm lightly against Blake’s cheek. “We’re here right now.”

Blake shakes his head. “That’s not enough. How could that be enough?”

Blake has always been the optimistic one. It isn’t supposed to be this way.

Schofield feels a flutter in his chest and recognizes the heavy weight sinking into his heart not as defeat, but as the determination to do something he should’ve done ages ago. He lets it sit, making sure it feels right, then makes a decision.

“Hey.” He waits until Blake reluctantly turns his head to look at him. “Anything is possible as long as you’re with me.”

It takes Blake a few seconds, stretching into minutes, before he registers his words. “What?”

“That’s what you told me before, isn’t it? I wanted to believe you then, but now, I know for sure that I believe you.”

Schofield takes the ring out of his pocket, runs his thumb over the imperfect exterior, then holds it up for Blake to see.

“Tom Blake,” he whispers, Blake’s name sounding sacred in the night, “will you marry me?”

Blake widens his eyes and makes an attempt to sit up, then groans before settling back against the cot. He whips his head around frantically.

“It’s just us,” Schofield explains. “They left you your own tent. For your valiant efforts, I heard them say.”

Blake doesn’t laugh. “That’s—That’s not funny.”

Schofield smiles. “I’m not trying to be. I’m perfectly serious.”

Blake looks down at the bandages circling around his entire torso, then lifts his free hand to cover the patch of fresh red mixed in with the darker crimson. “This’ll need to be changed soon,” Blake says.

“I can do it,” Schofield replies. “I don’t mind.”

“It’ll leave a scar. An ugly scar.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I talk a lot. You know I do. I’ll annoy you for days on end and you’ll never be able to get rid of me.”

“I don’t mind.”

Blake hesitates, then opens his mouth once more. “We’ll never be able to get married for real.”

Schofield lifts Blake’s hand and presses a kiss to Blake’s fingertips. “I don’t mind.”

Blake begins to cry again, and Schofield would be alarmed if he didn’t know Blake inside and out by now and understands the tears aren’t from sadness, but from happiness. Blake has always been a sensitive person. Perhaps most people would call it a weakness, but that’s what Schofield likes most about Blake—his capacity to love.

Schofield squeezes Blake’s hand. “So?”

“So.” Blake wipes his tears away. The mischievous glint returns to his eyes. “You’re not on one knee, you bastard. Ask me again properly and maybe I’ll consider it.”

Schofield laughs. Of course; he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> I have another wip I'm working on, but I was lying in bed trying to get over a cold and then my brain latched onto the scene of Schofield taking the rings off Blake’s fingers. That inevitably made me think about marriage proposals, and I couldn’t make it stop until I opened my laptop and typed out this whole damn thing.


End file.
